Sunday, 31 May 2015

This is from the sequel to my magical fantasy novel THE CATASTROPHE OF THE EMERALD QUEEN. Entitled THE SUNDER OF THE OCTAGON, it contains a character based on Polish KMG instructor Jacek Walczak.The character is called Alaskadie, a badass of the first order. In this scene he is threatened by a gang of thieves in a tavern.Enjoy.

----------------------------

The room was dark and smoky. Very few
people were there and the aura of the place was one of sleepiness and age. Snoring
with his head on the table was Old Ben, drunk as usual after his lunch time
session. At another table sat two men playing a dice game. Their faces were old
and leathery, lacking expression. Occasionally they took swigs from the large
metal tankards by their right hands.

There was little
sound in the room and the figure in the far corner liked it that way. Peace and
quiet. The chance to drink in solitude and reflect on the world. His blue eyes
saw the room in clarity, his mind wandering to memories of his past. His
training, his life, his childhood. Forever waiting for a signal he knew would
never come. Not in his lifetime, or five generations before him. He knew that
his life would be constant anticipation of a call to duty that wouldn’t come.

Alaskadie was
very, very bored.

He glanced to the
bar. The barman was looking at him quizzically. At the crystal gaze from the
blue eyes the barman’s face momentarily flickered with fear and he looked away.

The barman
Steren, had never seen the man before. A well built fellow of well over 6 feet.
His hair was cut to the scalp. He wore a loose shirt, the buttons open to the
navel due to the heat in the room. He could tell the man could handle himself.
He considered himself able to judge people within seconds and his brief
conversation with the stranger had made the hairs on his neck prickle. Muscles
rippled in his arms as he walked, his shoulders broad and all he’d asked for
was a bottle and to be left alone to enjoy it. Quiet yet there was something
frightening about the man.

Oh well, he
thought. At least the stranger meant no harm. Steren turned back to the bottles
behind him and reached for one to brush off the dust. There was a loud crash
and the door the tavern burst open.

“Hey, heeyyyy.
Back in town again. The boys are here!”

Steren winced and
composed himself before turning round. The Aaron brothers. They’d been gone for
weeks and he hoped they’d decided never to come back.

He smiled as he
turned round. “Morning lads, what can I get you? On the house of course.”

Unik Aaron was
facing him. His two brothers either side and four of their friends behind. Unik
was a scrawny man of about five and a half feet. His hair was shoulder length
and lank, the stubble on his face partially hiding the pock marks and
blemishes. Half his left ear was gone, the result of a fight he’d had several
years ago. He grimaced at Steren and tutted loudly. “Now now, let’s not
forget who you’re talking to fat man”, he chided as if talking to a child.
His brothers simply glared at Sengen but the other four tittered loudly. “Of
course the drinks are on the house. You don’t expect us to PAY do you?”

Steren swallowed
hard, trying to control his shaking. “No offence meant boys, take a seat.
I’ll bring a few bottles right over.”

Unik moved
forward slowly, his brothers flanking him. He lunged and grabbed Steren by the
lapels of his shirt, pulling him halfway over the bar. He whispered slowly, “You
call me sir you fat idiot. You understand that?!!”

Steren was
terrified but he nodded slowly then added, “Yes sir”. The Aaron brothers
had clearly had a bad time, whatever they’d been doing while they were away. He
glanced at Malik and Doren, the two younger brothers. They were taller than
Unik, their wide brimmed hats battered by wind and rain. Their long leather
coats faded. All were armed with swords and Steren prayed to his personal gods
that they would simply get drunk and then leave.

Unik smirked and
let him go. He turned to where the two men were playing dice. They were looking
at him with wide eyed fear in silence. Unik smiled amiably and said, “You
two chaps won’t mind buying us a drink will you? And that table is mine I think
you’ll find.”

The four other
mean surrounded them, hands resting on the hilts of their swords. The menace
was palpable but no one spoke. Slowly the two men took leather purses from
their belts and placed them on the table with a loud jingle. Unik chuckled and
the two men stood up and moved to the door, the wall of men parting to let them
out.

“Splendid,” Unik said
grinning. Some of his teeth were missing and his smile was far from pleasant to
see.

“What about him?” one of his men
said, pointing to where Old Ben still sat snoring, head on the table.

Unik chuckled. “Old
Ben’s a good lad. Just leave him. He was a friend of my father’s.”

They pulled
chairs up to the table and Steren arrived with two large bottles of rum.

“That the best
you can do old man?” Unik snapped angrily.

“No, no. Not at
all,” Steren said quickly. Just getting you some more.”

“Good man,” Unik replied,
not looking at him. He pulled the cork with his teeth from a bottle and took a
big swig. Steren returned with two more bottles and put them on the table, then
returning with a tray of small glasses.

“Well lads” Unik said
looking round the dimly lit room, “Never thought I’d see this place again.
Good to be back don’t you think?”

The others
sniggered and one poured rum into the glasses and they raised them in a toast.

The others
shouted back, “WHATEVER WE WANT!” and swiftly downed the drinks.

Unik looked
around the room, his eyes finally fully adjusting to the gloom. He saw the
stranger in the corner. His brow creased. The man was simply staring at them,
one hand holding a glass. As he looked at the stranger the other man made no
attempt to look away or acknowledge him. Unik’s anger riled and he said loudly,
“Well, well boys. Looks like we’ve got a new friend in our tavern. Why don’t we
say hello.” He stood up ,his chair scraping back as he got to his feet.

He sauntered over
to where the stranger sat. The man simply stared at him levelly as he
approached. His brothers flanking him and the others one step behind.

The stranger
simply looked at him, then the others, then slowly raised his glass to his lips
and took a drink.

“Cat got your
tongue?” Unik asked. His brothers smiled and the others giggled again. “I
must say you’re a quiet one. Still I’ll forgive your lack of manners if you buy
us all a drink. Can’t say fairer than that can I?”

The man’s
expression didn’t change. He slowly finished his drink, put his glass on the
table and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked past Unik
to the bar, his expression one of complete disinterest. He took the bottle and
filled his glass again, ignoring all of them.

Unik found his
temper fraying. He got respect wherever he went and this man wasn’t even
acknowledging him. His cheerful façade slipped. Through gritted teeth he
hissed, “I’m talking to you. Now you put down that glass and pay attention
to me.” He looked at the stranger’s wrist and saw the bracelet, a many
sided, multi coloured jewel encased in strands of silver over a chunky leather
strap. “I think we can start by you handing over that bracelet if you want
us to forgive your rudeness.” One of his brothers laughed loudly.

Finally the
stranger spoke. His tone was weary and cracked, as if he didn't speak very
often and his voice was rarely used.

“Everywhere I go,
I meet people like you,” he said, staring at Unik again.

Unik felt his
anger overflow. This man wasn't even afraid of him.

“Well, maybe you
won’t go anywhere else my friend.”

Alaskadie eyes
were impossible to read and a look of utter fury began to form, like black
storm clouds on the horizon. He slowly took his hand from the table and a
short, wicked looking blade was revealed that his palm had been covering.

He glared at Unik
and said slowly. “If you can take this knife from the table, then you may
take my bracelet.”

Unik grinned once
more. “Oh, you want to play silly games do you?” He snarled and lunged
for the dagger with one hand while his other lunged for his sword. At this
range he could take the stranger’s head from his shoulders in one swipe. He
grasped the hilt and began drawing the blade, felt it slide from the scabbard,
halfway out, more.

Then…suddenly the
stranger vanished.

Alaskadie appeared in the room. The room
that had been used by his predecessors. The secret room, hidden deep below the
palace and known only to a handful of people, the room where the protectors of
a multitude of worlds could be called. For over a hundred years no Octagon
sentinel had been summoned. Four priests of the Guardianship stood in a semi
circle around the dish in the middle of the room. Their white robes were
dazzling and perfect. Six guards stood in shining armour, hand picked for this
honour that would doubtless not happen again in their lives or the lives of
their children, or their children’s children. Their armour was gleaming as they
stood nervously awaiting the arrival of a legend so secret that it was a fairy
tale for generations. A protector of the Octagon.

With this one
secured and the formalities out of the way, the summoning of the remaining
sentinels could take place. The Prime Guardian calmed his nerves and despite
the gravity of their situation, was immeasurably pleased to have the honour of
being present at such a historic event. The three available would assemble here
and be despatched together to return the crystals that Scious had so stupidly
stolen. A simple task, but one that required a very complex set of protocols
and magic to invoke. To see such a secret order of people in one room was
something few men knew could ever happen, let alone dream of seeing.

As Alaskadie
fully materialised Jakoban began to recite the lines, last spoken generations
ago, to formally welcome the most exalted guest. “It is an honour to be
present at your most…” his voice faltered as he realised something was
terribly wrong.

Instead of a man
materialising before him Jakoban could only see a chaotic weaving of clothing
and flesh. It was as if someone was shaking the man inside the Shimmer dish
like a dog with a rat. With a final flash of bright light the sentinel fully
appeared.

The figure before
them wasn’t a man but a pure blur of motion, impossible to focus upon. Before
anyone could speak the blur moved incredibly fast from the stone dish and the
nearest guard went flying into the wall, armour crashing loudly. The others
didn’t have time to react before the blur moved to them. In the space of a few
seconds all five were thrown like rag dolls into the walls of the room. Jakoban
made to move away but the blur turned towards him and through a scattered staccato
of speech, the terrifying vision swarmed on him, high shouts and yells
emanating from the spinning smear of violence. Jakoban felt himself lifted and
hurled backwards, landing heavily into the crystals set out so lovingly for the
summoning of the sentinel’s fellow kind. The precious glass smashed as it
collided with the wall and floor. The other priests scattered to the far end of
the long room. The haze snarled in anger and made towards them but suddenly
purple light erupted from the doorway and cocooned the hazy form. It continued
to thrash violently but the cocoon morphed until it held the man in an oval
prison. Alaskadie howled in frustration and the priests turned to stare in
fright at the doorway. Jakoban raised his head and stared in frightened awe at
the spectacle.

Sophie stood
there, Mordalayn beside her. Her hand was raised, the purple light emanating
from her outstretched fingertips. Alaskadie continued to thrash and blur inside
his tiny cell, screaming with rage. Mordalayn stared at the spectacle, his brow
furrowing in concern, for the first time in a long time, not knowing what to
do.

Sophie spoke, her
voice quiet but carrying in the narrow room. “Octagon sentinel, we are not
your enemies. We summoned you because we need you. Please trust us.”

Alaskadie beat
against the walls of light holding him. The oval cocoon stuttered and Sophie
muttered some words and the spell was reinforced, pinning the furious,
screeching man once more.

“Please,
Alaskadie. We need you, we are not your enemies, please trust us.”

The blur began to
slow and Alaskadie became visible to the entranced audience. As the blurring
slowed more they could see the sweat lining every visible piece of skin on his
body and soaking his clothes, his shirt stuck to his muscled chest and heavy
arms. As his body stopped hazing he staggered and fell to his knees with a
thud, breathing heavily, palms open to support him as he panted and gasped.

“I will release
the holding spell now, we are not your enemies,” Sophie said once
more.

Mordalayn’s sword
was instantly in his hand. “My Lady!” he growled, moving to stand in
front of her.

She turned to
stare up at her bodyguard. “Takoba, he is not a threat. Look.” With that
she lowered her hand and the purple light vanished. Alaskadie remained on his
knees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Slowly he raised his head and looked
at them both, saying nothing.

“What, what is
he?”
Mordalayn asked in bewilderment, staring at the man.

“He is a rage
dancer, he can harness the power of warping . A power known only to few and
used very rarely. He is now exhausted beyond endurance. The guards are lucky
they did not draw their swords. If they had he would have killed them.” She turned to
Alaskadie. “You are my guest here but we have need of you Chosen One.”

Slowly Alaskadie
stood up, almost falling as he staggered upright.

“Are you calm
now?” Sophie asked gently, her face full of concern

After a long
pause Alaskadie took a deep breath. “You are the Emerald ruler?” he
asked still panting, his breath slowly returning to normal.

Sophie looked at
the man then replied. “I am. Why were you warping when we summoned you?”
she asked looking puzzled.

Alaskadie smiled.
“In over 100 years, no sentinel has ever been named for summoning. The fates decreed that you
called me to you just as I was about to teach some cut throats a lesson.”

Sophie smiled too
and Mordalayn resheathed his sword and stood back. The priests moved hesitantly
forward and the guards sat up groaning and painfully stood. Alaskadie turned to
Jakoban and winced when he saw the devastation he had wrought upon the
crystals. The only way of summoning the most elite of warriors. “My
apologies. My actions were not malicious. Can you still summon my brother and
sister kind?”

Jakoban shook his
head and with a wheeze, the bearded man replied. “The crystals were
priceless. They can be replaced but not in time. I am afraid that you now are
our only hope.”

Alaskadie shook
his head sadly and reached down to help Jakoban up. His hands were soaking with
sweat. Once the priest was on his feet Alaskadie turned to Sophie. “Emerald
queen. Please tell me what you require of me. I, Alaskadie, guardian of the
Octagon , am yours to command.”

Saturday, 23 May 2015

This is from my novel THE CATASTROPHE OF THE EMERALD QUEEN. Aimed at readers aged 10+ it's a magical fantasy set in another world. While not specifically Kravvy, this chapter has anti-bullying themes and shows that sometimes the only thing that can stop a bully is an even bigger bully.

Recently I've wondered if the outcome would have been different if Maria had done Junior Krav. But then I'd have had to find another way to show just HOW much Mordalayn hates bullies.

As
they began to bed down for the night Stone spied that Blautin hadn’t put his
flute in his backpack. He made a snatch for it and Blautin span round.

“Give it back,” the younger boy snapped angrily as
the older child grinned and held on to the flute, dangling it out of reach of
the frantic swipes of its owner.

“Come and get it,” Stone said, jumping up and
dancing around. The others barely took notice but then Blautin stood still and
started to cry.

Stone didn’t stop and instead started to laugh.
“Hey, what are you? A little…”

“ENOUGH!”

Everyone jumped and looked at Mordalayn who was
sitting opposite the two boys across the fire. There was a horrible silence and
Stone stared at the warrior, embarrassed and scared. Blautin stopped crying and
wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his sleeve.

“Give it to him,” Mordalayn growled.

“I was just messing…” Stone began but was
interrupted.

“You are a bully and bullies are despicable,”
Mordalayn said with limitless menace. Everyone was looking at him. Challandra
was scared, knowing the Caracalic’s reputation. Leppard glanced from Mordalayn
to the boys and then back. Stone handed the flute back to Blautin and then sat
down, his cheeks burning with shame. He hugged his knees and looked away.

After a long pause Mordalayn spoke again. This time
more softly.

“Bullying is vile. Would you have liked it if
he’d taken something you loved?”

Stone shook his head mutely. Blautin sat down,
putting his prized flute in its silk cloth and wrapping it carefully before
putting it in his pack. He sniffed the last of his tears away and looked at
Mordalayn, at the same time frightened and reassured.

The Caracalic had everyone’s attention and he spoke
calmly and quietly, the only other sound in the forest the crackling of the
fire.

“To make someone weaker than you a victim
only for your own pleasure is beyond vileness.” He glanced around slowly at
everyone as he said this. No one could meet his eyes, even Bue and Leppard
lowered their gazes.

“Recently I saw this.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Mordalayn had been shadowing Jared for four days in
Warwick. The spell he’d placed on Queen Sophie would
prevent their enemies from finding her now. However, she was still vulnerable
and as long as Jared was trackable they could, if they could get to him before
she came out of her death sleep, use him to find her.
Mordalayn had followed him and his parents this night to a house where a woman
holding a baby had answered the door. The house was in an area that Mordalayn
had not explored before. He looked around. The sun was going down and he
glanced at his wrist band. The crystal was still a murky shade of green. He
needed to eat. He’d smelled food about quarter of a mile east from here and
decided to break off to find rations. Drawing his hood over his face and
pulling his robes tight around him, he leapt from the roof he was on to the
adjoining one and then shimmied down the drain pipe to a path between two
houses. Behind them was some coarse ground and he vaulted the fence and ran
along the edge of the copse of trees, keeping to the shadows. Shortly he came
to a junction and turned right keeping his back to the walls. Leaping up again
he climbed silently and fluidly to the roof of a detached house and ran
soundlessly across the tiles to the peak. He knew the stores here would
certainly have bins out the back for disposing of unwanted food that he could
forage for. He was about to move along the roof when he looked down and
something caught his eye.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Oooh sissy dolly,” Aiden snapped at Maria nastily.

Maria was scared. She’d gone to the shops to
buy some milk for her mother and Aiden was there. She didn’t like Aiden. He was
older, bigger and bullied her and the other small kids at every chance he got.
The shops were only round the corner, she could see the front garden of her
house from here. She hoped someone would help her but there was no one around.

Aiden grinned at her, his smile not even
remotely reassuring and held out his hand.

“Give it to me and let me look at it.”

Maria gripped the doll even tighter and shook
her head. She knew that if she gave it to him, even for a second, she’d never
see it again or he’d break it.

Aiden moved forward, backing her up against the
wall and looked both ways in case any adults were around or that nosey
Community Support Officer who occasionally wandered round the estate.

“Let me hold it for a second and I’ll let you
have it back,” he said.

Maria was on the verge of tears and didn’t want
Aiden to see her crying. “Let me go Aiden,” she pleaded. “My mummy will be
wondering where I am.”

“Best give me the doll then you stupid cow,”
he said trying to snatch it from her.

Maria bolted and ran and Aiden followed her laughing.
“Go on run little cow!” he whooped, easily catching her up in about three
steps.

Maria screeched as Aiden tripped her up, pushing
her down on the paved slabs outside the shops. She skidded and fell, the milk
carton going flying and bursting open.

Aiden reached down and grabbed her doll in
his grubby hands. She screamed as he tore it free from her grip and shook it in
front of her triumphantly.

“See what happens when you don’t do what you’re
told?!!” he shouted at her.

Maria had skimmed her knees as she fell and
she started to cry. Aiden grinned and grabbed the head of her doll and pulled
hard.

“No!” Maria screamed at him as the head came
free with a pop. Aiden laughed and dropped it on the floor and put his filthy
trainer on it, stamping up and down on the plastic body and twisting his
foot.

Maria bawled loudly, looking on helplessly as Aiden
ruined her toy. The doll was a present from her nana, who had died last year,
and it was her favourite. Giving the doll one last twist with his foot Aiden turned
around and walked off laughing.

Staggering to her feet Maria looked around
and ran wailing into her home, shouting for her mother.

Aiden walked down the alley between Maria’s
house and the precinct of shops. Whistling a happy tune with his hands in his
tracksuit bottoms he failed to notice the cold, furious eyes that watched him
silently from a rooftop across the square.

-----------------------------------------------------

When Aiden got home his mother was in front of the
huge plasma screen TV in their lounge. She turned as he came in, her half smoked
cigarette clutched in her fingers. “Get yourself some dinner, there’s microwave
corned beef hash in the freezer.”

“Whatever!” Aiden said disinterestedly and
slunk off upstairs, leaving his mother in a cloud of smoke watching television.

He went up to his room and opened the door
with the sign, “Aiden’s Den. Keep Out or be Dead,” on it with a black skull and
crossbones.

He switched on the TV in his room and turned on his
games console. He fell back onto his bed and picked up the control pad while a
war game started to load. As the game began he became engrossed in the action,
not noticing the squeak on the stairs that meant someone was coming up.

As his door opened he hit “pause” on the pad and
cursed loudly. “Mum! I told you to knock when you….” then looked up and his
voice trailed off abruptly.

Mordalayn stood glaring at him in the doorway. His
rage at what he’d seen the boy do to the little girl was barely controlled as
he silently closed the door.

Aiden stammered. “What, wh..who are YOU?”

Mordalayn moved forward and stood towering over him
silent and terrifying, his hood thrown back to reveal his face. Aiden gulped,
the game controller forgotten in his hands, his eyes flicking over the huge
sword on the stranger’s back and the figure’s cat face, whiskers bristling
angrily. Glancing around the room Mordalayn saw the chaos of a young boy’s
bedroom with old sweet wrappers and magazines on the floor amongst old clothes.
He looked around slowly and his eyes finally rested on Aiden.

“The necklace you’re wearing. Give it to me,”
he said flatly.

Aiden’s hand went up to the chunky, gold
necklace he wore. It was a present from his father for his tenth birthday.
“What? No way. Get lost!”

He scrambled to his feet and made for the door but
Mordalayn grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back, clamping his gloved
hand over Aiden’s mouth to stifle the boy’s yell of fear. He tugged hard at the
necklace which snapped free with a jerk, two of the links clattering to the
floor and Aiden yelped.

Casually placing the chain into a pocket of his
robe Mordalayn tossed Aiden back against a pile of dirty clothes in the corner
of the room. As he reached for the door handle Aiden found his voice.

“Don’t take that. Please! My dad gave me that.”
He started to cry.

Mordalayn paused for a second then turned. He
glared at Aiden and his green eyes narrowed. “You laughed at that little girl’s
tears today,” he said slowly. “Remember how this feels.” Then he opened the
door and closed it behind him. He lithely crept down the stairs and walked past
the lounge doorway, Aiden’s mother was still engrossed in her TV show and never
noticed as Mordalayn made for the open kitchen door and vanished into the back
garden.

-----------------------------------------------------

Maria’s mother Sylvia kissed her forehead as she
slept, heartbroken about what had happened. She’d disinfected Maria’s grazed
knees and cuddled her while she cried herself to sleep. “That boy Aiden is utterly vile” she thought, but the police either
couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything about his behaviour. Each time they either
failed to return her calls or simply sent that useless community support
officer round to deal with it. The officer had tried to visit Aiden’s home to
discuss the matter with his mother but she had simply screamed at her to go
away. The only advice the police were willing to give now was “tell Maria to
keep away from him.”

She stroked Maria’s hair and pulled a stray lock
away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Sighing, she stood and pulled
the door half closed, the landing light casting a subdued beam into the room. Taking
one last look at her sleeping daughter she went downstairs into the
kitchen.

Making for the rubbish bin Sylvia pulled the white
bin liner free and checking there were no holes in the bag she tied the yellow
string tightly at the top and opened the kitchen door. She walked the ten or so
yards to the large wheelie bins on her driveway and opening the nearest one she
tossed the bag inside. Before she could close it a thick voice spoke quietly.
“Don’t be frightened but please don’t turn around.”

Sylvia jumped with fear. “What do you want?”
she stammered. “I haven’t got any money on me.”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the voice replied. “I
just want to give you something.” Sylvia twitched her head but there was only a
shadow behind her, the low light on the driveway was not enough to see by. She
closed the dustbin lid and rested her hands on it. After a pause the voice
continued.

“The boy who hurt your daughter today will never do
that again. He is sorry and he wants you to have this to make up for his
actions.”

Sylvia glanced to her right as a paper bag was
placed on the lid of the wheelie bin next to her. The gloved hand withdrew and
after a long silence she slowly turned round. The driveway was empty. Breathing
out heavily she placed one hand on the wall to steady herself. Then she delicately
picked up the bag and walked into the kitchen to see what was inside.

-----------------------------------------------------

Next morning Maria came downstairs for breakfast
bleary eyed and grumpy. She was still upset and was surprised to see her mother
making pancakes at the cooker, singing softly to herself. As Maria came in she
smiled broadly.

“What’s the special occasion mummy?” Maria asked,
looking confused and taking her seat at the breakfast table. They only usually
had pancakes on special days like Shrove Tuesday or sometimes on a Sunday.

“Well my sweet, today is a special day because your
grandmother has bought you a new doll.”

Maria thought about this and even though she was
only 7 she wasn’t stupid. “Mummy, how can nana buy me a doll?”

Sylvia smiled again, barely able to contain
herself. “Look in the bag darling,” she said, nodding to the white paper packet
on the table.

Creasing her face in confusion Maria leaned over
the table and took hold of the packet. She placed it in her lap and opened it.
Reaching inside she pulled out the contents and gasped.

Inside was her doll, but different. It had
golden, curly hair down to its waist. which shone in the morning light from the
window.

“Oh mummy, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed,
holding it up and smiling. Sylvia put her arms around Maria and laughed. “Yes
my dear, it’s lovely,” She saw her daughter’s face light up with joy and
wondered who had been the one who’d put things right.

-----------------------------------------------------

“So, remember when you tease or bully someone else
you cause them pain that can usually not be taken back.”

Stone, who’d taken the flute, bowed his head in
shame and after another long silence Leppard said, “I think we all need to try
and get some sleep now. We have an early start in the morning.”

The boys began silently arranging their packs as
pillows. No one spoke and no one would look directly at Mordalayn in case they
met his steel gaze.

Friday, 22 May 2015

Via Adrenaline's Wayne Hubball I
found out about a different type of boxing discipline, Ghost Fighter. In a
nutshell it is about avoiding getting hit, while being able to hit.

The blurb on the advertising states
"Ghost Fighter Central (developed by Phil Norman)- Offers the latest in
stealth fighting, a stand up fighting system which enables you to strike with
minimal return from your opponent. This unorthodox system teaches you dynamic
striking angles whilst utilising evasive movement, leaving the person in front
of you hitting thin air and feeling like they are fighting a GHOST!"

Hmmm....

My cynicism was whispering in my
ear. This sounded a lot like the Gun Kata from the Christian Bale movie
"Equilibrium" (mathematically predicting where an opponent will fire
at in a gun fight so you can move just before they shoot). I checked the Ghost
Fighter website and their club T-shirts have the slogan "Now you see
me...." on the front. In a list of reasons to try Ghost Fighter was
the paragraph:

"No more toe to toe. Gone
are the days of using our heads as conkers taking hit after hit. The elusive
movement of Ghost massively minimises hits".

Double hmmm....

But as I have some tiresome
psychological stuff that prevents me from fully enjoying the sparring or
fighting side of Krav Maga I thought I'd give it a look. I spoke to a guy named
Ade on the phone. He's the only certified Ghost instructor in the Birmingham
area and I was welcome to attend for a free lesson. I made my way over to
Acocks Green in Birmingham the
following Monday and met him and his club members at a small gym. Ade is also a
Krav Maga instructor of G2 level and splits his time between the two worlds. I
chatted to a couple of guys who were warming up. They told me that the principles
of Ghost have boosted their confidence in Krav, and the skills it teaches have
given them an edge they didn't have before when fighting.

Talking to Ade he told me there
are 4 rules in Ghost.

1). Don't enter No Man's Land.

2). Get off the track.

3). Continuous motion.

4). Don't get hit.

As we formed up in a line we did
the Ghost version of Krav's "kida!" which was left foot forward,
punch left fist into right palm and shout "respect!" Then we did some
warming up to get a sweat on before splitting off into pairs. Ade got us to
work on some striking, pointing out that in Ghost there is no sparring until
you are advanced in the discipline, mainly as the whole point of Ghost is to
avoid getting punched.

He then had one of each pair close
their eyes and the partner stand within their reach. The "blind" one
had to then throw punches while the other attempted to block. After we'd all
had a go Ade explained that if you get too close to someone even a blind man will
be able to land at least one punch on you. Therefore it's better to stay out of
reach and not enter No Man's Land.

After some more workouts on
striking we then moved to a specific technique designed to thwart someone
attempting to use jabs. It took me and some of the others a while to crack this
but I could see and feel the difference afterwards. The idea is that as someone
jabs you, you move your head back, you twist your upper body and "load" your left arm. You then
switch stance by swapping your feet and duck around the jabbing fist,
stepping to the left of your opponent. You are then in a blind spot and can
deliver a hook punch to their face before stepping behind them to come full
circle. I really liked this technique and with a lot of practice I could see
that it would be useful.

I chatted to Ade afterwards and he
broke down what the 4 principles are about.

"Don't enter No Man's Land.
Which means don't enter your head into anywhere where you can get hit. Get off
the track means if you stay on the track with someone there's going to be a
collision, someone's going to get hurt. Continuous motion means that a
stationary target is a lot easier to hit than a moving target. And the fourth
principle... if you forget about all of that just don't get hit."

From what I could see the basic
benefits of Ghost Fighter to me would be that I would be able to approach my
reluctance to sparring in a "David and Goliath" mentality as opposed
to trying to emulate stronger, more experienced fighters. By that I mean that there
are ways to solve problems that require lateral solutions and not direct confrontation. There are several guys in my Krav Maga club who are fast, strong
and skilled when sparring. Meeting them head on is a mixed bag at the best of
times. Working on my cardio from six weeks before my P5 grading helped me to
sustain energy during the milling we had at the end (7 rounds of 2 minutes,
full on. Then 10 rounds of 4 against 1. Two as the defender, eight as an
attacker). By being fit enough to go the course I was able to keep slugging
away and ended up with a score of 8 out of 10 for my sparring, despite failing
the grading itself. One thing I noticed during this grading was some guys
simply locking up tight by keeping their faces protected but not hitting back
in the later rounds. One bloke told me afterwards that he was "blowing out my
arse" by about round 5 and felt unable to fight so just gritted his teeth and hung in till the end.

By having suitable cardio fitness
levels plus an ability to be "sneaky" and work around other people's
frontal strength I believe I would be able to stand my ground much better. The best example would be the
tale of a double decker bus that came to a low bridge and was 6 inches too tall
to go under it. Various methods were discussed as to how they could get the bus
through. Turning it around or dismantling the bridge plus many other
suggestions. After a while someone simply said "Why not let the tyres
down and drive slowly under then inflate the tyres again?" I don't
feel I will ever be able to face some fighters that I know head on and win.
However, by adapting my fitness levels to have better endurance plus learning
how to get on their flanks, I would feel a lot more confident about my future.

Overall the Ghost Fighter
discipline is like an expansion pack on the Playstation or X-Box
franchise "Call of Duty." You can buy extra levels featuring new
battles with soldiers or even zombies. You can buy maps and equipment and cheat
codes but none of them will mean anything unless you have a copy of the main game.
Ghost will be useful to me as a bolt-on for my main Krav training.

Thursday, 14 May 2015

In the 4-ish
years I've been doing Krav Maga, I've only had to use it twice in "real
life". Once was this incident while I was on holiday last summer in Crete.
Very minor, no harm done and being drunk I fumbled what I intended to do but it
worked anyway.

Today it happened again and like before, it wasn't a heroic
battle between good and evil with me standing howling over the twitching corpse
of my vanquished foe. It was solved through the lower scales of conflict resolution
that we are taught in Krav training.

I was at work (I deliver stuff) and met a particularly
unpleasant woman who refused to sign for a parcel for her neighbour and got
lippy about various trivial stuff before marching back indoors with the words
"I'm not arguing with you about it."

As I finished what I was doing I pulled the communal door to
the apartments shut and it closed with a loud bang. Not my intention, but shit
happens.

As I got to the street there was an elderly couple standing
near my van and the woman asked if I'd mind posting a letter for her.

"Well we don't normally but no problem my dear, I don't
mind doing...."

"DO YOU MIND NOT SLAMMING THE FRONT DOOR LIKE THAT?!! THE BABY'S ASLEEP!"

I turn to find the gobby woman standing fuming in the
driveway leading to her flat. The old couple look embarrassed and I feel my
temper fraying.

"I'm not talking to you, go away." I turn my back
on her and resume my chat with the old couple.

She slams the communal gate harder than I shut the front
door, presumably determined to make certain her baby stays awake. I lose my
rag, and yell after her:

"Piss off you fucking silly cow!!!"

As I turn back to the old couple who are now silent with
confusion and embarrassment, the gate creaks open again and I'm confronted with
the sight of her boyfriend. He has a baseball cap on, baggy shorts, and a
large, faded tattoo on his neck. He's also got his right hand stuck to the
depth of his wrist...down the front of his shorts.

"What'd you say?" he mumbles.

I take my earphones from around my neck and put them in my
pocket and sigh "You ARE joking me?!"

"What'd you say? The baby's sleeping, don't slam the
fucking door like that!!"

His atrocious missus then starts the predictable mantra.

"Leave it babe, babe...leave it...come inside
babe!"

"You mind not holding your dick when you're talking to
me?!"

He moves closer, still with his hand firmly gripping his
knob and I take one step back with my right foot and put my arms up in the best
'Geoff Thompson' stance, left arm forward, right arm half extended, palms up.

"Back off, just stay away."

"Babe, come in. Leave it babe!"

"What you gonna do?!" he smirks, getting closer,
when he makes contact with my left hand I shove him away.

"FUCK OFF!!!"

He backs off but continues making threats as he moves away towards the gate. "What you gonna do?"

"Seriously mate, just get lost. What YOU gonna do
anyway? Wipe the hand you've had your cock in on me?"

He glares at me from the gate with his hand still cuddling his genitals and then mumbles something
more about what I think I'm going to do then disappears.

I turn back to the old couple, who have their mouths open
silently.

"Sorry about that ladies and gentlemen. More than happy
to post your letter for you my love, you have a good day."

Wednesday, 6 May 2015

I found out in 2002 that my left knee was bereft of its anterior crusciate ligament. I was doing kickboxing and fighting with the instructor of the club. I tried to pivot on the left leg and instead of using the ball of my foot I kept it flat, meaning a noise like a lettuce being hacked with a steak knife reverberated through my body. I limped off to the side and had a knee the size of a grapefruit for about a week.

In 2004 I went for an operation at a hospital in London and the consultant surgeon (a bloke I'd only seen at a distance up to that point) turned up in his gold watch and Saville Row suit and manipulated my leg. After asking that old chestnut "Does this hurt?" a few times, he then pronounced that my leg was perfectly healthy, I didn't need surgery and to go home.

Happily I skipped home, smiling like a spoiled child on Xmas morning, as I naively believed the ACL had somehow grown back of its own accord.

It turned out that because I was doing a shit load of cycling in London, the knee had compensated for the missing ligament by growing lots of muscle and the leg was stable enough to not warrant the operation

Basically, that prick of a doctor was saving a a few quid.

Years later and the issue turned up to haunt me. I was rejected without interview for both the Postal & Courier Regiment of the Logistics Corp of the British Army and the RAF Reserves for this. As soon as my medical history was seen, they didn't want to know. The TA major in charge of recruitment spoke to me at length on the phone and said "Once you're in, you can get as injured as you want... but if they let you in with an existing injury you might sue them...and they don't want that."

I can't go jogging because the next day the knee is sore and swollen. A physio I go to occasionally said not to run but cycle instead and compared my knee to tectonic plates below San Franciso. They grind together and occasionally that causes issues on the surface.

In Krav Maga the knee has proved to be a nuisance. If I grade then it's swollen like a bastard but I have learned to adapt by taking painkillers before and after (including anti inflammatory pills like Diclofenac) and also wearing not one but TWO knee braces (a medical one and a Poundland blue/black thingy). This has meant the knee is manageable in the short term BUT my flexibility is fucking awful in my lower body and kicks from my left leg can be like Bambi trying to stand up, especially if I'm tired. I can't kneel on my heels as it is beyond painful.

It's basically kind of sucky.

Recently I went to a doctor who referred me to hospital, who sent me for an MRI scan who then called me in to see a nurse in the Fracture Clinic. She said the knee can be repaired, the operation waiting time is a maximum of 15 weeks and I will be discharged the same day. The knee will then be healthy and I can go jogging, do yoga like a boss and have the flexibility I've missed for 13 years.

However there's a downside.

When I get this done I will be out of training of ANY variety, be it Krav Maga, cardio or yoga...from between 6 to 12 months. The nurse specifically said the timeline would be:

I failed P5 in March of this year and the next grading is in October. I've recently read about a discipline called Ghost Fighter, which maximises ability to hit, while minimising the chance of being hit back. That's right up my alley and I will attend my "taster" class next Monday to see if I like it. I've kept my cardio up to speed to deal with the abject misery that is the sparring of a P5 grading (last time we did 7 rounds of 2 minutes, followed by 10 rounds of 4 against 1) and have Wayne Hubball's Adrenaline coming up on June 6th.

Problem is that the hospital have offered me surgery and will only postpone for 6 months. That means I can go on my summer holiday from June to July for 4 weeks but I will have to then ask to go back on the waiting list...or lose my place completely. The operation will happen by September so if I have it I will miss my P5 resit.

Thing is... there are a multitude of factors FOR doing this and a lot less for not. If I get my knee repaired I will (later) be stronger, fitter and have more endurance. My kicking from the left leg will be more powerful and I will be able to fight without worrying if my knee will go "click" at the wrong moment. I will have to wait until at least March 2016 for my P5 exam, remembering that I passed my P4 in March 2014.

Ultimately it's a question of priorities. I know that I need to be fully fit for a grading and for training and by being patient I can come back and aspire to G level and beyond. The brief satisfaction of getting my five bar patch with repairs pending, will not happen.